


Phantoms at Sea

by IllogicalLogician



Series: The Supernatural Assassins [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed, Supernatural
Genre: AU, Assassin's Creed - Freeform, Assassin's Creed crossover, Assassin's Creed-Supernatural Crossover, Crossover, Gen, Red Sky At Morning, Supernatural - Freeform, Supernatural Crossover, Supernatural season 3, casefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-17 12:11:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IllogicalLogician/pseuds/IllogicalLogician
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The seas had been home to many; many sailors, many pirates, and as time passed, many stories and lore that told of phantoms commandeering ships that had sailed hundreds of years ago.</p><p>Call it a ghost ship, call it a phantom spirit, but every thirty seven years, people living on the Louisiana coast have been drowning-- on nothing but dry land. It has gone unnoted, shrugged off by investigators as "freak accidents." To any but a few, they would be. The mysterious deaths have returned, and the Kenways have picked up the tab, following word of mouth from old gas station clerks and articles from newspapers, conveying confusion and suspicion that would only mean one thing to a hunter: a job.</p><p>An Assassin's Creed-Supernatural crossover casefic of the Supernatural episode, "Red Sky at Morning."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phantoms at Sea

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a relatively new fan to Supernatural, but ever since I started watching the show, I've been seeing parallels between Sam Winchester and Desmond Miles, and between Dean Winchester and Connor Kenway.
> 
> I've been noodling around with this idea in my head for a while, and since plots are hard, I have opted to write a casefic-esque thing of the episode from season 3: "Red Sky at Morning."
> 
> I'll probably make this a series that consists of more casefics (unless I can think of something original) revolving around Connor and Desmond, taking the places of Dean and Sam. I plan to write these guys with canon events in SPN, so some of the stuff I put in this specific fic is up to date with the mentioned episode in season 3.
> 
> If anything is confusing, my headcanons/parallels in this crossover can be found in the series description.
> 
>  
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading!

The Impala roared through the night, cutting through the mist that had settled near the earth. Inside the car it was abnormally quiet, making Desmond shift uncomfortably in his seat while Connor's jaw clenched and unclenched; a conversation stirring on both of their tongues, though neither wanted to start it.

"Are you going to start this conversation, or should I?" Connor broke their silence.

"What conversation are you referring to?" Desmond kept his eyes locked on the road ahead.

"You know what I am talking about, Des."

"That...the stork isn't real? Connor, I really have no idea what you mean." An inaudible growl rose in Connor's throat.

"You cannot go off and do things like that, Desmond. It is reckless, dangerous, and stupid." Desmond lowered his head.

"You found out."

"There is a bullet missing from the Colt. You've been hell-bent on finding this goddamned demon ever since Achilles managed to fix it for us."

"Hell-bent. Real clever, Connor."

"That is not the point."

"Yeah, well the point is that we only have a few months left until you get sent to Hell. It was a chance, and I took it. It was about as reckless as you selling your soul in the first place!"

"I did not do it so that you can go and get yourself killed, being sentimental and _blind_ to the danger you are putting yourself in!"

"You're my cousin, the closest thing I've ever had to a brother, and I'm going to do whatever I can to save you. That merits no apology, and no regret." Connor shook his head, gripping the wheel tighter.

"What is done is done. What did you say our next job was?" Desmond let out an exasperated sigh.

"I don't know a lot about it, but from what I've heard, people have been drowning along the Louisiana coast." "Maybe they are just terrible swimmers?" "I thought of that too. But here's the catch: They all end up drowned--on dry land. The most current case ended with a woman drowning in her shower."

"...Well that is...uncanny."

"Very."

"You said the Louisiana coast? Why are Altair and Malik not on this one?"

"I don't know. Maybe they're out of town, working on another job."

"Or working on each other."

"Jesus, Connor!"

"It is a possibility, is it not?"

"I...yes, alright. It's possible. But _not_ what we should be focusing on right now. The coast is what, four hours away?" Connor grinned, trying to stifle a chuckle.

"Yeah, about."

"Okay, just...wake me when we get there."

"Come on, man. Why do you get to sleep?"

"Because you never let me drive."

"Passenger should always stay up to keep the driver awake." Desmond rolled his eyes and shifted to rest his elbow on the door and his head on his palm.

"Spontaneous Rule Generating: The Art of Connor."

"The thing I do best." Connor smirked, eyes moving from Desmond to the road.

The sky had just started to turn the soft pink of dawn. Connor found it hard to concentrate on their forthcoming task. He rolled down his window, so that just a sliver let in the outside air. Connor could smell the previously fallen rain and the dew that had settled. It was the smell one could only find in the earliest hours of the morning. Connor reveled in it for a moment, taking a deep breath and sighing. Past his fear of what was to come, of Hellfire and demons and being torn apart by Hellhounds, he felt his heart clench. Small, human, earthly things like this, he was going to miss.

***

The Impala pulled up to a beaten up motel, the air heavy and clammy, even with the mid-morning sun. Desmond yawned, offering to check in for them while Connor gathered their things.

"I literally _just_ washed her." Connor fretted, running a finger over dirt that had solidified over the Impala's paint since the last rain. Desmond returned from the front desk, chuckling.

"Connor, we travel across the country hunting the worst supernatural monsters imaginable, and you expect your car to stay clean?" Connor scowled.

"Of course not. I expect it to not get spotted with dirt a day and a half after I have washed it, though." Connor cast an apologetic look to the Impala.

"You've got to be kidding me. Can we get our stuff inside? It feels like wet feet out here." Desmond walked toward the trunk, catching the duffel that Connor tossed to him.

"Once we get settled, can we go to a local diner, or something? I am starving."

***

The diner was crowded, buzzing with conversation and a pleasant warmth compared to the settling chill outside. Desmond sat across from Connor, the latter impatiently nursing a cup of coffee and plate of eggs and sausage while the former left his meal untouched, focused on the screen of his laptop.

"Did you find anything?" Connor took a bite of his food.

"Yeah, the most recent bizarre dry land drowning was a woman named Sheila. Eye-witnesses said that she had gone for a nighttime jog, gone back home, and then the next morning she was found, dead in her home."

"Are there any family members we can talk to?" "The only one in the area seems to be her aunt, who found her in the bathroom." Connor grimaced.

"Alright, let us go and pay auntie a visit." Desmond raised his eyebrows.

"After I finish eating."

"Dude, come on."

"You're not the only one who's running on an empty stomach; and excuse me if I don't eat like a wolf. What does Achilles call you, bear child?" Connor grunted, trying to bury his face in his coffee mug. Desmond laughed, shutting his laptop and pulling his breakfast in front of him. As he picked up his fork, his eyes brightened as he looked up toward the door.

"Altair, Malik!" Desmond put a hand up, beckoning the two to them. Connor gave Desmond a look of disbelief, turning around to find their two friends. Altair and Malik's eyes lit up in unison as they turned to meet the others.

"Desmond! Connor, what brings you to our neck of the woods?" Malik smiled, putting a hand on Desmond's shoulder, then fist-bumping Connor.

"There's a job here. We were surprised that you two weren't on it." Desmond scooted over, allowing Malik to sit next to him. Connor did the same, and Altair took a seat.

"Nah, we just got back from one, up in Illinois. Clan of vampires. Nasty buggers, they are." A waitress came up to their table, asking for Altair and Malik's orders. Desmond nudged Connor's foot underneath the table with his own. Connor kicked him in the shin as a response.

"Just coffee for me, thanks. Black, no sugar." Malik smiled up at the waitress. Desmond had never seen him so exuberant. It must have felt nice, coming back to a home after an arduous job. There were rings of exhaustion under Malik's eyes, and his voice was rough, but he looked content. Desmond's lips quirked.

"Coffee, cream and sugar, and can I get a slice of pie?" Altair thanked the waitress as she walked away.

"Someone has got a sweet tooth." Connor nudged Altair, who looked down as if embarrassed. "I am liking your taste in pie, though."

"I swear, it's the only thing Altair orders from this place." Malik playfully flicked Altair from across the table.

"I like to actually use my taste buds, thank you." Altair stuck out his tongue. "Sweetness is a virtue."

"You're an idiot."

"Mehmuhmeh." Altair's response.

"Anyway, what brings you here? Surely it's recent, or we would have picked up on it." Malik turned, looking to the others.

"From what we've gathered, every thirty seven years, a slew of people mysteriously drown on dry land. We have no idea the cause." Desmond answered. Connor could have sworn he felt Altair tense. Altair cleared his throat, resuming his intrigue in the conversation.

"That's strange. Has there been any connection between the victims? Possible cause?" Altair spoke. Desmond shook his head.

"Not so far as we can tell. Profiles on victims in past cycles have been difficult to come by, and the expanse of time between each of these killings makes it even harder." Desmond took another bite of his food. "We think we have a lead, though. The aunt of the last victim lives in town, so we figured we would talk to her, see if her niece was acting strange, if there were any signs of a supernatural attack."

"Sounds like you've got it covered." Altair looked worriedly to Malik, who in turn cast knowing eyes to Altair. "Just give us a call if you need any help."

"Will do." Connor replied. Malik and Altair's order came, received with grateful but weary eyes. Desmond scarfed down the last of his meal, taking a final swig of his coffee before looking and nodding to Connor.

"It was great to catch up with you guys. We have some questioning to do." Desmond pulled his coat from the back of the booth.

"Yeah, it was nice seeing you again." Connor shifted in his seat, bidding goodbye to their friends.

"The same to you guys. Good luck with this thing, whatever it is." Malik and Altair stood, letting Connor and Desmond leave.

"See you later, guys." Altair waved. As Desmond and Connor left, Altair dropped his voice, speaking in hushed Arabic. Malik answered, also in their native tongue. Desmond squinted in suspicion, but discounted it as he and Connor made it to their car.

"Do you think we should have told them what we are doing?" Connor said, pulling out of the diner's parking lot. Desmond looked to the neon sign that hung above.

"Why wouldn't we? I thought you trusted them?"

"No, I do. Completely, but we gave Altair a scare."

"What makes you say?"

"Altair cannot swim."

"What?"

"He never learned. Malik berates him for it constantly, but it had something to do with a traumatic experience from his childhood, or, something."

"Still, you've lost me. Why would it matter whether or not we told him?"

"I am just thinking of his well being. He is probably deathly afraid of drowning." Desmond looked to Connor with a measure of disbelief.

"Since when do you care so much about whether we scare people or not? It's a kind notion, but..."

"It was just a thought." Connor cut him off.

"Whatever you say, man."

It was early afternoon before Connor and Desmond scavenged a few cheap (but just nice enough to make them look important) suits and made it to the door of the victim's aunt, Mrs. Case's house. She was friendly enough, letting them into her home with no more provocation than a flash of a badge; all that they needed. Connor took out a notepad, starting to question as Mrs. Case settled on a couch.

"So, Mrs. Case..."

"Oh please, call me _Ms._ Case, dear." Connor looked up from his notepad, and could have sworn she _winked_ at him. Desmond coughed to cover a snort.

"Okay, Ms. Case." Connor shook his head. "When was the last time you saw your niece?"

"The day before her death, actually. We had lunch together."

"And did she say anything out of the ordinary, act strange, anything?" Desmond questioned further. There was a pause before Ms. Case spoke again.

"There was nothing too alarming, except for her mentioning some sort of 'ghost ship' that she saw in the harbor. Whatever that means." Desmond and Connor looked to one another.

"Did she say anything specific about it? What it looked like?" Connor jumped on the trail.

"Not much. She mentioned it looked like an old ship. One of the three-mast clipper sailing ships from when pirates still pillaged for gold and sailors were honest king's men." Desmond raised his eyebrows, amused.

"Where did you say you boys were from? The police department already came earlier."

"We, ah.... are from the sheriff's department. Different...uh, departments." Connor forced a smile. He wasn't sure if he was more uncomfortable with the weakness of his alibi or the current way in which _Ms._ Case was staring at him.

"I see. Well, you're sheriff's men, then. _Very_ respectable. If you need any more help, you know where to find me, dear." Ms. Case reached out a hand, using two fingers to stroke Connor's, clasped around his notepad. The advance made Connor flinch, having to bite his tongue to keep from retaliating. Desmond failed at keeping his laughter under control, masking the sound terribly with fake coughing.

"Will do, Ms. Case. Let us go, Desmond." Connor mumbled through his teeth. Ms. Case smiled at both of them as they left, winking as Connor made eye contact while walking out the door. Both of them made their way down the driveway. Desmond ungraciously snorted and doubled over, laughing so hard that not even Connor's murderous gaze could make him stop.

"Dear, you'll have to go back there for tea." Desmond said, breathless through his laughter.

"She is probably just....lonely. And it _is not_ that funny, Desmond!" Connor shoved his hands in his pockets, looking at the ground. Desmond could tell he was fighting a blush.

"Defending your new girlfriend, I see. Oh Connor, it's pretty funny if you ask me."

"Yeah, well no one asked you." Desmond composed himself, wiping away tears that had formed in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, man. It's just...could you be any more awkward around human beings?"

"Do you want to see my contact with alien life forms, perhaps? I will mind meld with a Vulcan just fine. You can take notes."

"I didn't know you rolled that way, man. My mistake." Connor's jaw dropped in horror.

" _Anyway_ , we know what has been causing these deaths." Connor hurriedly changed the subject.

"We have a better idea, yeah. We can research any ships that have sunk within the past hundred years, and see if we can find any information."

"Sounds good to me." They came upon the Impala, thankful to be able to shrug off their jackets and undo their ties. They had a long night ahead of them.

The night greeted them harshly as they holed themselves into their motel room with books from the local library, a laptop primed with every information database they found that would be of assistance to them, and a smattering of horrible fast food and energy drinks. Midnight struck, and they still had nothing to go off of.

The hours passed slowly. Desmond pored over ancient textbooks, looking for anything resembling lore for a phantom ship. No matter how hard he tried, Desmond couldn't fight his exhaustion. Three in the morning found him asleep where he sat. Desmond grunted, stretching the kinks that had formed in his neck and rubbing his eyes as he woke.

"Connor?" Desmond looked around the room, concerned when he got no answer. He stood, pacing around the room. The keys to the Impala still sat next to Connor's bed. Desmond pulled on his white hoodie, quickly leaving the room and locking the door behind him. Panic welled in his chest. Where could Connor have gone at this ungodly hour? Desmond's eyes scanned the area, and he let out a strained sigh of relief as he looked to the nearby docks. Connor sat on the edge of one, staring into the night as if expecting someone-- or something.

"Connor, it's three in the morning. What are you doing out here?" Desmond approached Connor, crouched on the edge of the dock, eyes petulantly scanning the calm black waters.

"There is something about this case, I just cannot seem to put a finger on it." Connor rested his chin on his knees.

"Yeah, and what has you so interested in it?" Desmond paced behind him.

"I cannot say." Connor trailed off, mind wandering.

"It is just...strange."

"Can't it be strange in the morning, you know, when there's daylight?" Desmond shivered, rubbing the sides of his arms. "Come on, man, aren't you freezing?"

"What could have caused this, Desmond?"

"That's what we're here to find out, and all in good time. We need to _sleep_ , Connor." Connor took a deep breath, letting it out through his nose and letting silence play itself out. Desmond gave up trying to reason, and with a less than inconspicuous scoff, he sat next to Connor, crossing his legs and rubbing his hands together.

"They say that she saw a ship." Connor spoke after a few moments.

"That's true, but we don't know anything about it; motives, why a ship would have an angry spirit attached to it..." Desmond weighed the possibilities.

"Our grandfather used to tell us stories of pirates, sailing the oceans and plundering wherever they saw fit. There could be an entire pool of violent deaths on a pirate ship." Desmond laughed.

"Edward also used to tell us that he _was_ a pirate, Connor. You can't expect his stories to be accurate."

"He had children who turned out to be Hunters, though." Connor looked over to Desmond. Both smiled, either reveling in the memory of childhood or consolation for their current predicament. Neither could say.

"Were you able to find out anything else about the case?" Desmond asked. Connor shook his head.

"Not anything super helpful. There have been over 150 three-mast clipper ships that have sunk in this harbor. That about sums it up." Desmond put his head in his hands.

"This is awful." Desmond's voice was muffled. He looked up. "There is endless lore about phantom ships. Anything from The Flying Dutchman to... _Old Man and the Sea_."

"Maybe Hemingway's ghost is angry because of people's ill appreciation towards his writing."

"Nailed it."

"I guess we will have to keep searching."

"We'll need to do it quick, too."

"What makes you say that?"

"Each cycle this...phantom ship has gone through, it's taken victims for one week, and one week only. This is just the beginning."

"Fantastic."

"Yeah." They both looked out across the water. "I'm going to go back inside, hopefully get some more research done. You coming?" Desmond stood, wrapping his arms around himself. The chill of the air was biting.

"Soon. I will come inside in a few minutes." Desmond nodded, making his way back to their motel room. Connor sat, contemplating, before following suit.

As Connor unlaced his boots and walked into the room, he found Desmond asleep sitting at the table, research abandoned. Connor smirked, draping an extra blanket over Desmond's shoulders and grabbing the laptop, preparing for another few hours of being awake. Connor switched on the television, the low hum serving as some sort of cathartic white noise. It at least helped him feel like he wasn't the only other human being alive.

***

The morning sun filtered through the grubby windows of the motel room. The dawn found them both fallen asleep where they sat. Connor opened his eyes, uncurling from his position on the couch. The sun shone through the curtains, revealing the startlingly red sky that blanketed the horizon. Connor squinted, both in confusion and discontent from the bright light. He looked across the room. Something on the television caught his attention. He grabbed the remote, turning up the volume.

 _A local man was found; apparently drowned on his bathroom floor last night. Authorities are saying...._ Connor threw his legs over the side of the couch and stood, bolting to where Desmond still slept.

"Des, wake up." Desmond mumbled, and stirred. "Desmond, wake up, you have to see this."

"What is it, Connor?" Connor pointed to the television, the local morning news airing.

"Jesus." Desmond whispered, as he comprehended what was being broadcast through the haze of half-wakefulness.

"You were right. It struck again. We need to figure this out, Desmond." Connor put a hand on the top of his head, clutching the remote with the other. Desmond rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and shook his head.

"We can..." A yawn. "We can talk to the victim's brother. They're saying that he had family he left behind, maybe they know something." Connor nodded. He turned. Desmond sighed, begrudgingly getting up, still wrapped in the blanket Connor had put over his shoulders. The night kept them late, and the dawn called them early, but the supernatural had no constraints, so neither would they.

***

Talking with the brother heralded very little. A more specific description of the ship, and the promise that the brother would suffer the same fate as his sibling. Another sleepless night, and they couldn't save him. Connor and Desmond came back to the motel, discouraged and downtrodden.

"Dammit." Desmond threw himself down on the couch, earning a persistent groan from the old, beaten up springs.

"This is hopeless, Desmond." Connor pulled a chair near the couch, turning it around and sitting on it backwards.

"There are no ties between any of these victims, and the descriptions of the ship that they all saw seem to be getting a little less ambiguous at best." Connor rested his head on his hands.

"We might be able to find the name of the ship, based on the description."

"Yes, and narrow down 150 to a hundred."

"It would be better than nothing." Connor nodded, shrugging his shoulders. Desmond got up and picked up his laptop, searching for a refined list of possible ships.

"Desmond?" Connor called after a while.

"Yeah, Connor?"

"Check the victims. See if they had any strange deaths in their families. Maybe a vengeful spirit may be looking for someone with a certain history." Connor turned to face Desmond.

"That's good. Very good." Desmond looked back to his computer screen. Connor got up and walked to the bathroom to change into his pajamas. Anything was better than what he'd faced the day in.

When Connor finished, Desmond met him excitedly, getting up from the table and showing him his findings.

"I checked the victim's profiles, like you mentioned. The two brothers, inherited millions in real estate from their father when he passed away; only a few years ago. Sheila, her cousin was killed in a car accident, that she walked away from-- and she was driving the car." Connor pinched the bridge of his nose.

"And all of this is supposed to mean...?"

"It's not for certain, but maybe these people killed their family members for some sort of motive. The brothers for their father's fortune-- I mean, it could be anything."

"That is one hell of a long shot, Desmond." Connor tossed the clothes he changed out of onto his bed.

"Wait, it gets better. I managed to narrow down what ship it was, based on the description and the possible history."

"And?"

"The _Espirito Santo_ , a merchant sailing vessel. In 1859, there was a sailor accused of treason. They hanged him, but not before cutting off his hand to make a Hand of Glory; and get this-- he was thirty seven years old."

"Which explains the thirty seven year cycle."

"Exactly. Further research revealed that the sailor was tried for treason, was also the captain's brother. The captain carried out the sentence."

"So how do we get rid of this thing?"

"I've read that the sailor's body was cremated, but the hand was preserved. Apparently it's being held at the Sea Pines Museum, on display as this town's own little, macabre bit of history."

"Sounds simple enough."

"Yeah, I wish." Desmond closed his laptop, turning to set it down on the nearby table. "The Sea Pines museum is an exclusive, four star club. Only those with memberships can get in." Connor's brow furrowed. "Unless we got invited."

"How would that work?"

"Your new girlfriend." Desmond smirked at the look of horror that blossomed over Connor's face.

"You have got to be _kidding_ me." Desmond laughed. "Desmond, no. We would have better luck climbing onto the rooftop and then through the window."

"Come on, Connor. It would be easier, and probably more convenient for all parties involved." Connor grumbled, and then spoke:

"Fine, what do we have to do?"

"I'll call Ms. Case in the morning."

***

Altair and Malik lived near the bay, a small dock leading to the water off the side of their home. The sun was setting, casting a warm orange and red to the clouds and the sky. The air was getting colder with the changing of the seasons, but the sunset was still just as stunning as a midsummer night's. With liquid golden eyes, Altair gazed to the setting sun. He sat on the edge of the dock, one knee pulled up to his chest, the other hanging off of the edge, his toes just barely above the surface of the water. Malik had tried to teach him how to swim near this dock, with grievous results.

The water was calm now. It seemed futile that in their line of work, Altair feared something as docile as water. If anything, Altair had learned that the most calm of creatures were often the most ferocious.

The peace of the twilight was interrupted by a sudden clap of thunder, and flash of lightning. Altair squinted, it didn't appear to be a stormy night. Soon, the silhouette of a ship appeared. A flash, at first, and then it appeared solidified out at sea, materialized from thin air. Altair's breath caught in his throat, his heart racing.

Desmond had called he and Malik earlier in the day, claiming that each of the mysterious deaths that had recently occurred involved the victims seeing a ship out at sea. Altair scrambled to his feet, all but squeaking when his foot skimmed over the top of the water. He half ran, half stumbled as fast as he could to the door of he and Malik's house.

Breathless and frightened, Altair called out as he burst through the door. Malik walked into the doorway, worried.

"What is it, Altair?"

"I saw the ship."

***

The night passed into morning. To Desmond's relief and Connor's dismay, Ms. Case agreed all-so-eagerly to escort Connor and him to the grand event at the Sea Pines Museum that night. Six in the evening rolled around, and Desmond stood, nervously fixing the bowtie on his suit and anxiously looking at his watch.

"Come on, Connor! Ms. Case is waiting for us to pick her up!" Connor had entered the bathroom about half an hour prior, and Desmond hadn't seen him since.

"This monkey suit makes me look ridiculous!" Connor's voice sounded from behind the bathroom door.

"I'm sure you look fine, now come on!" The bathroom door creaked as Connor slowly opened it, revealing his pouting face.

"Go ahead, say it."

"Say what?"

"That I look like a fool."

"Connor, you don't. I promise. Ms. Case is going to be very pleased."

"Mohawks and suits do not mix, you know that, right?"

"I'm assuming you're referring to your hair, and not to your heritage." Connor scowled at Desmond.

"So what is our plan?" Connor asked Desmond, crossing his arms.

"The hand is on the upper levels of the museum, in a glass case, rigged with an alarm."

"Lovely."

"I figure you'll need to keep Ms. Case occupied, so she doesn't question why we're there." Connor growled.

"Why me, dude?"

"Because the first thing she asked me was if my fellow 'police officer' was coming." Connor groaned, stomping his feet where he stood. Desmond grinned. "Now come on, this hand isn't going to burn itself."

"I hate this job."

"I know you do."

***

They made it into the museum, both of them linking arms with Ms. Case. Connor appeared to be just short of crawling out of his skin, and Desmond had his lips in a tight line, trying to avoid a smirk. They entered the main ballroom. A few awkward moments of standing around and picking at food passed, when Desmond spoke.

"I seem to have forgotten to use the men's room before we left. I'll be back." Desmond patted Connor's shoulder, elbowing him as he went by. Ms. Case gave Connor a devious stare, before grabbing two champagne glasses, offering one to Connor. Connor's eyes widened.

"No, uh, no, thank you, Mrs...." Ms. Case cleared her throat expectantly, "Ms. Case. I am not a huge fan of...champagne." Regardless of Connor's protests, Ms. Case forced the glass into Connor's hand, and Connor had no choice but to assent with nothing more than an exasperated sigh.

Connor scrambled for a place to put the champagne glass as Ms. Case drank from hers. The music in the ballroom changed; Connor tensed as he felt an ever-persistent hand at his elbow.

"I just _love_ this song. Let's dance." Ms. Case pulled him to the middle of the floor. Connor complied, jaw clenched in an effort to look at least somewhat calm. Ms. Case wrapped her arms around Connor's back, evoking a nervous shift as he attempted to keep her at arm's length. Despite his efforts, her hands moved from his shoulder blades to his lower back. _Desmond, you freakin'_ owe _me for this_. Connor looked up to the ceiling, discomfort clear on his face. It wasn't until Ms. Case's hands made it below his lower back that he yelped, jumping back.

"Alright, there. Um." Connor stood speechless, trying to convey his discomfort in a way that was...inconspicuous.

"Oh, well you're just firm _everywhere_ , now aren't you?" Ms. Case pulled him closer again, and started fiddling with his ponytail. "You must be very dedicated to your work." Connor squirmed.

"You could...say that, I suppose." Connor cleared his throat. Ms. Case leaned her head against Connor's chest. _Jesus Christ, Desmond. I swear if you do not hurry up..._

"So, is the case closed?" Ms. Case looked up to Connor, who regarded her as nervously as he would a strange, very attached furry animal.

"The one with, uh, Sheila? No, we still have to sift through some more evidence."

"It's been almost a week."

"These things take time." Connor sighed. He would rather be anywhere but there.

"Do you think it has anything to do with those brothers?"

"We think that the deaths are connected, yes."

"Damn those boys, I'd say they had it coming." Connor's brow furrowed.

"What do you mean?" There was a pause, and then Ms. Case whispered:

"Come, let me _whisper_ it to you." Ms. Case grabbed Connor's collar and pulled his ear down to her level. Connor scrunched his eyes shut and grit his teeth.

"The rumor is that the boy's father didn't die of.... _natural_ causes. If you know what I mean." Connor let out a breath he was holding.

"You think that they...killed their father?"

"Mmmm." Ms. Case pressed her lips to Connor's ear. Violently flinching, Connor straightened, gripping Ms. Case's shoulders.

"Did Sheila have any tragedy happen in her life?"

"Why, yes. A car accident, with her cousin. A perfect Fall day, on a nearly deserted road--no one knew how it happened." Connor looked up, jaw tightening again. Desmond had been right.

***

Desmond chuckled as he left Connor with Ms. Case. He turned the corner, taking a seat on a nearby bench as he scanned the corridor for a way upstairs, past the bouncers that lined the hallway and guarded the stairs; the stairs, which seemed to be the only way to get to the upper levels. Desmond cursed under his breath. There was no graceful way to complete his task.

Desmond got up, walking amongst the groups of people that gathered near--but not too close to-- the staircase. A waiter came by with small appetizers. Feigning hunger, Desmond took a small handful of them. Ducking behind an empty table, Desmond looked over the tabletop, just being able to sight the bouncers at the foot of the stairs. Berating himself for the ridiculousness of his solution, Desmond lobbed the appetizers over the table; each of them hitting the bouncers near the stairs. He called out:

"Hey! Over here, douche bags!" He ducked, rolling underneath the clothed table and waiting to hear their footsteps. There were sounds of discontent, confusion, and finally the scuffling of feet as the bouncers went to investigate. Desmond held his breath, waiting until their footsteps had passed the table he was underneath, and rolled from below it, staying under the line of table tops and sneaking his way through the crowd of people until he got to the stairs. With his heart pounding in his chest, Desmond bolted up the stairs, turning the corner of the hallway at the top just before the bouncers had turned back to resume their places, given up on their search.

Desmond took a deep breath, scouting for the room that supposedly held the hand. _Room 235_. Desmond half walked, half jogged down a few corridors until he finally found it. Hesitantly, he turned the doorknob, opening the door.

Multiple glass cases were scattered about the room, all lit by integrated backlights. Desmond walked around the room, searching for the plaque that read _"Seaman's Hand"._

No glass case was marked as such, however Desmond came upon an emptied display, with a sign over the case plaque reading: _Hand of Glory- 1859, sold to overseas merchant in India_. Desmond sighed.

"Shit." Desmond put his hands on his hips, letting his head hang. There was no way to get rid of this spirit, now.

***

Desmond evaded eye contact with the security officers as he made his way down the stairs.

"Hey, what were you doing up there?" One of them put a hand on Desmond's shoulder, stopping him.

"I'm really sorry, I was just looking for the bathroom, I must have gotten lost, and I just..."

"Sir, this is the only way upstairs, how did you..." A look of realization came over the bouncer's face.

"You know, I just get turned around so easily. That's what too much champagne will do to you, though. I'll just be going."

"Search him." The bouncer nodded to his partner.

"I didn't..." Desmond grunted as they pulled his arms up and started searching his clothing. "I didn't do anything, I'm telling you, I got lost."

"He's clean."

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." If looks could kill, Desmond would have been a dead man. His eyes widened.

"So sorry to have bothered you." Desmond hastily walked away, glancing nervously over his shoulder. Desmond walked into the ballroom and rested a hand on Connor's shoulder.

"We have to go." Desmond nervously looked back again. "Now." Connor nodded, looking down to Ms. Case.

"Ms. Case..."

"Please, call me Gert."

"Uh..." Connor looked back to Desmond, shrugging his shoulders. "Gert, I am truly sorry, but Desmond and I have to go."

"Why?" A terrible longing resonated in her voice.

"Duty calls. Classified business, very urgent." Desmond's eyes were stern.

"Well, if you say so..."

"We will drop you off at your house." Connor wrapped a tentative arm around Ms. Case's shoulders, following Desmond's hurried gait out of the museum.

When they were alone in the car again, Desmond explained his experience to Connor.

"You threw _food_ at them?" Connor's immediate response.

"There was no other way."

"Sure there was not. "

"Look, the important thing is-- we have no access to the hand, so there's no way to get rid of this thing." Connor unceremoniously pulled off his tie. "What is it?"

"Nothing, except for the fact that I was just groped all night for nothing!"

"So I take it your evening with Gert went well?"

"More like I would rather... fly than go through that."

"That's pretty rough, man."

"You are telling me."

The two went back to their motel room, ready to call it a night, and to call their job finished. There was nothing they could do. Both of them had changed into something much more comfortable, and were about to go to sleep when a knock at their door made them freeze. Connor nodded to Desmond, who got up off of the couch and padded over to the door, holding his breath as he looked through the peephole. Desmond let out a sigh of relief. He unbolted and unlocked the door, still bewildered.

"Altair, what are you doing here?" Desmond stood at the door, looking over the frightened and paled man standing in front of him. Malik stood behind him, a hand at Altair's back.

"Can we come in?" Altair's voice was short, and Desmond could have sworn he saw the man _shaking._ "I..uh, sure, guys. Come on." Desmond moved aside for both Malik and Altair to enter. Bewildered, he shut the door and met them in the center of the room. Connor stood, greeting them with a worried expression.

"What is going on, Altair? Malik?" Connor looked to both of them, however they averted their eyes to anywhere but Connor and Desmond. "Sit, please." Connor gestured to the couch.

"You sure do look like hell." Desmond sat on the back of a chair, while Connor pulled up a wooden one. Altair had his head in his hands, Malik uncomfortably shifted in his seat.

"Connor, Desmond, that job you're working, with the...phantom ship."

"I saw it." Altair looked up, amber eyes alight with fear. "You said that whoever saw it...drowned, on dry land...right?" Altair's voice cracked. He swallowed, attempting some form of composure. Desmond nodded solemnly.

"Look, we would have tried to handle this on our own, but since you've been working this job and Altair's afraid of water..."

"I'm not afraid of it, Malik."

"Then tell me why you _refuse_ to take swimming lessons!"

"I've told you millions of times before..."

"Guys, let us get to the point here." Connor held out a hand. "Altair saw the ship. How long ago?"

"Last night." Altair whispered, running a hand through his hair. Desmond looked to Connor, and then regarded the other two.

"From what we've gathered, this ship only appears to people who have taken the lives of a family member. The two brothers who have passed killed their father," Connor winced, and then continued; "and Sheila, she ended her cousin's life. Altair, have you....taken the life of someone from your family?" Altair looked to Desmond, a helpless expression with teary eyes.

"I..." Altair looked down again.

"My brother." Malik spoke, his voice dark.

"You....but you two are not...." Connor questioned.

"Altair and I are not related by blood, but we might as well be. We're close enough, that's for sure. Altair is a part of my family now." Malik clasped one of Altair's hands in his,

"and about seven years ago..."

"Seven years ago I got Malik's brother killed." Altair interjected. Shock played through both Desmond and Connor's faces.

"We were working a job, and I made a mistake. We were ambushed, and Malik's brother Kadar was caught in the crossfire. It's the same night that cost Malik his arm." Altair's voice was rueful, and he winced at the memory.

"We've been looking for a way to get rid of this thing, but..." Desmond resisted.

"But what?" Altair spoke, desperately. His normally stoic demeanor was fractured as he wrapped himself in his arms, looking more like a scared and terrified child than a hunter.

"The ghost-- was the brother of the captain. The captain, had his brother hanged, but not before he cut off his brother's hand." Connor explained.

"Then we find the hand, salt it, and burn it." Malik looked to the other two, hopeful.

"That's the thing." Desmond got up to move closer to Malik and Altair. "We went to the museum where the hand was being kept, but it was gone. Sold to some overseas merchant."

"I'm going to die." Altair murmured.

"No, Altair, You won't. We'll find a way to get rid of this thing." Malik put a hand on Altair's shoulder.

"There's no other way to get rid of a spirit. The body's gone, and we have no access to that hand. I'm going to die, Malik!"

"If you'd stop acting like a _novice_ hunter and more like you actually _have_ the experience that you do, we can find a way."

"We've been brainstorming, but haven't come up with anything yet." Desmond redirected the conversation. "It would be a lot easier with two more souls aboard." Malik and Altair looked up.

"Alright."

***

Connor yawned as he looked to the clock; it was nearly four in the morning. Desmond sat cross-legged on his bed, adamantly looking over their fathers' old book for the thousandth time. Altair was curled up on the couch asleep, head resting in Malik's lap, while the latter rested his laptop on the arm of the sofa and scanned the screen with the diligence of someone who was brazenly determined. Connor looked out the window, distracted by his thoughts. The ship had not appeared for him, and it was troubling.

By the time the sun was high in the morning sky, Connor stood, pulling on a pair of jeans and his worn jacket.

"I am going to get us breakfast."

"Thank you, Connor." Malik looked away from his laptop, briefly offering an emotionless smile before returning to his research.

"Wait, Connor, before you go." Desmond uncrossed his legs and stood from his bed. "I think I've come up with a way to get rid of this thing." Malik perked up, looking hopefully toward him.

"What is it?"

"I think we can perform a séance."

"For the man without a hand?" Malik sounded skeptical.

"For the captain of the ship. If the spirit who has been doing this is going to show up, he can have what he really wants-- revenge on his brother." Altair stirred, sitting up and looking between the others.

"That would put Altair at risk."

"It's the only way to save him, as far as I know."

"I don't think that..."

"Malik, it's alright." Altair's voice was gruff from sleep, but firm enough that Malik agreed.

"Okay." Connor said, nodding. "Let us do it tonight, at the cemetery. Then we will know for sure that the spirit of the hanged man will be there."

***

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Malik shivered trying to work the feeling back into his toes. Altair stood as still as one of the tombstones, staring with a chilling glare to the summoning board Connor and Desmond had created.

As if on cue, thunder rumbled within the clouds above, and heavy raindrops started falling. Altair flinched.

"Better find out fast." Connor anxiously looked around. Desmond opened their book and started reading. The rain poured harder. A flash of lightning illuminated the graveyard for a moment, bringing with it another figure to join the four.

"Malik!" Altair jumped back, blood draining from his face.

"Altair!" Malik and Connor lunged forward, trying to stop the spirit from advancing. With the swift move of a near-transparent hand, they both were thrown, different tombstones breaking their flights. Malik slumped to the ground, unconscious. Connor fought the stars that formed in his field of vision, struggling to his feet. He called to Desmond;

"Hurry up with that, Des!" In an instant, the spirit had a hand on Altair's face. Altair's hands shot up to try to pry the spirit off, but it had already struck. Altair doubled over, lungs suddenly leaden with water. It burned as it came up his throat and out of his mouth and nose. No matter how much he expelled from his body, it kept coming.

Malik came to, shaking the fog from his head. He made it to his feet, running to where Altair was, now fallen to his knees, lightheaded from oxygen deprivation. "Altair!" Malik put his arm around Altair's shoulders, shaking him.

Desmond finished the incantation, and another spirit appeared. A ship's captain. The one who had attacked Altair turned away, and addressed the other. Altair fell forward onto his hands, wet, croaking coughs wracking his body. He breathed. It was shallow and coarse, but air had never felt so good.

"Altair!" Malik turned Altair to face him.

"Malik." Altair grabbed Malik in both of his arms, holding him as tightly as if he'd never get another chance to. Malik returned the gesture, clutching Altair's quivering frame and burying his face in Altair's damp hair. Malik looked up with a cold glare to the spirits that now faced each other. One of them spoke, voice coated in the pain of betrayal.

"You.... _hanged_ me." The captain responded:

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." Tears fell from his eyes. With a single roar, the brother of the captain lunged for the other, sending them both away, with nothing but a puddle of water in their wake. The four men were silent for a few long moments, stunned by what they had seen. Malik was the first to speak.

"So....that's it?" Desmond let out a puff of air.

"As far as we know, yeah." Connor rubbed the back of his head, now throbbing.

"Malik?" Altair spoke, voice clearer.

"Yeah?"

"Now you understand why I don't like water, yes?" Malik flicked Altair's forehead.

"Idiot." He hissed. Altair's response was to bury his face in Malik's coat, just able to hear the beating of his heart.

***

Morning came, and after Connor and Desmond had gotten Malik and Altair home and in some warm, dry clothes, they bid their farewells. Connor made his way back to the Impala, while Desmond lingered.

"Thank you so much, again, Desmond. And to Connor, too. I owe you two my life." Altair and Malik stood on the front porch of their house, as Desmond stood on the stairs leading down their drive.

"It was no problem. We're always happy to help a friend." Desmond smiled. "Good luck to you guys. We'll keep in touch."

"We hope to see you again soon." Malik spoke and waved as Desmond turned.

Connor leaned against the driver's side door of the Impala. Crossing his arms, he looked with a blank, yet calculating expression to the horizon. Desmond came to the passenger side.

"Connor." Desmond tried to get his attention. "Connor? What's up with you, man? You've been like this...dreamy kid in the corner during this entire job." Connor turned, and his intense dark eyes softened.

"I do not understand, Desmond." Connor turned, resting his arms on the roof. "If that ghost was after people who had killed members of their family..."

"You're wondering why it didn't come for you." A quirk of Connor's lips confirmed Desmond's query.

"He came for Altair, who did not even purposely kill _Malik's_ brother. Why would they spare me?"

"Connor..."

"I killed my father, Desmond."

"Killing Haytham was...not out of...it...you meant to kill the demon, not your father."

"I knew what I was doing. I knew, and accepted that I was killing someone of my blood." Desmond sighed, opening the door of the car and lowering himself inside. Connor followed, placing his hands on the wheel.

"It had to have been different, Connor."

"How, Desmond?" Connor looked to him. Desmond let out a huff of air, shrugging his shoulders, and searching for a thread of reasoning. Suddenly, it came to him.

"Haytham did that deal after our accident to save you." Desmond turned to face Connor again.

"That has nothing to do with..."

"Yes it does! Connor, Haytham was already going to hell. He was a dead man walking anyway. The fact that you killed him..."

"I get it." Connor cut him off. "It makes sense." He put the keys in the ignition.

"Plus, your deal stated that you wouldn't get taken to Hell for an entire year. I'm sure the demons overseeing that transaction wouldn't want to see you coming too soon."

"That is...not comforting at all."

"The last time I checked, you weren't in the market for comfort." The engine started, and Connor pulled out of Altair and Malik's lot and onto the road.

"I understand how you feel," Connor finally spoke, "and why you are trying so desperately to save me. If I were in your place, I would have done the same thing."

"That's not the point."

"What?"

"This isn't an issue because of me, it's because of you! It's because you don't care that you're _dying_ , Connor! I don't need you to understand how _I'm_ feeling, I need you to understand how _you're_ feeling. Could you just..." Desmond paused, trying to order his thoughts, "care about yourself, for _once_ in your life?" Desmond fought tears that were beginning to form in his eyes. Connor stared blankly at the road ahead of them. After mile upon mile of heated silence, Connor spoke.

"You are not getting this, Desmond."

"What are you talking about, man? I think I understand just fine. I may not fully comprehend that twisted head of yours, but I understand that you're denying any sort of sympathy so adamantly, that anything I do isn't going to save you!"

"What do you want me to do? Cry on your shoulder? Confess to you all of my sins? Desmond, there is no way out of this deal, and we both know it."

"Don't say things like that."

"Why? They are true."

"Because lately I've felt that I haven't been able to save anyone. Their faces pass with the cities in our rearview mirrors, but..." Desmond bit his lip, looking away as his tears came over his eyelids. "You are the one constant, and I can't live with myself if I fail to save you." Connor's face tensed, trying to work out what to say, or how to react. His voice was low when he finally spoke.

"I am sorry, Desmond."

"How can I forgive you if you can't even forgive yourself, for anything?" Connor blinked away coming tears. He cleared his throat.

"Where is the next job?"

**Author's Note:**

> I do plan to write things in this alternate-universe that coincide with supernatural during seasons one and two, but this one was the most inspired every time I opened my word document.
> 
> Truthfully, I watched the episode and immediately thought of Altair being terrified when they mentioned "dry land drownings" because, you know, he can't swim.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
